


Small hands, precious child.

by almondtofui



Category: Just original characters., No fandom.
Genre: I guess this is another alternate universe to his canon storyline, Mentions of violence and abuse., Other, Physical and verbal abuse are both mentioned within this., Some depiction of violence towards Jenova., and focuses on the aspect of not recovering after his accident?, once again the fox is a metaphor for Jenova's mental health.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 08:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30120234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almondtofui/pseuds/almondtofui
Summary: "The fox had been there a lot more lately, crawling from the depths of the back of his mind, seeping through the cracks within the porcelain, snarling into the fragmented segments of the mirrors. Jenova wiped his face and washed it the usual soap and water mix and his reflection stood watching him."This really is nothing more than a really ambiguous and vague opening to his childhood and some aspects of it, since I have a lot of his childhood plotted out, I just really did not want to write it all into one fic and pretty focused on the important aspects that builds up within this au.
Relationships: Family dynamics., Jenova & Anzu Yukimara., Jenova & Enmei Yukimara., Jenova & Nobu Yukimara., Jenova and his family., They're all original characters and they're a family.
Kudos: 3





	Small hands, precious child.

"Children are easier to hurt, Nobu. You do not have to do this to him." 

There are few times in which Anzu finds her voice to be nothing short of a tsunami, bittersweet waves and sea salt made to scorn ones lungs as cherry red labiums form such words defiling war and histories of crime. Angelic ichor, once golden and untainted finds only venom bleeding into open pores and tainting the valued lines as the woman draws the child closer against the dip of her chest. An entangled crown of thorn and snared lines finds itself buried against her breast as longing eyes fill with the common of feelings known to him; sickness and dread. His mother had always been kindness and steady hands, fond smiles and sweet perfumes akin to rose and lily. In a way, she could be melancholic, drawing memory for summer nights and spring days when his hands were kinder and his voice was steadier - when they could stay within tune and meet with the same chords.

Alas now, lithe digits of porcelain and velvet red nails skim through the child's hair, the very nest of her palm sculpted to the rear of the little boy's head as she supports his weight and lifts him against her hip. At her full height, Anzu could be revelled as a Queen, a marvellous woman of elegance and finery and sophistication woven into the tip of her tongue. Her riches could not define her and neither could she allow her power and strength to dethrone her, even within this moment when she finds herself antler to antler with her husband and her clothing sodden by tears and spilt crimson; she is baring teeth and tightened hands even as she draws their son further against her.

"Enough." She says, steady gaze upon her husband who too, had pulled back at his own height. Nobu was splendid, of course, no one could deny, but he was reckless at times, brutal and thoughtless, baring torn shirt and bloodied fists and splashes of ink to tarnish saccharine sweet epidermis, running amongst torso and biceps; a complete sleeve of artistry. For a moment, however, she hates him. The point of her chin secures lightly against the crown of the child's head, _little Jenova_ , you don't need to cry any more. There has once been a time when Anzu had appreciated Nobu adorning the fabulous hue of crimson and burgundy, carrying the familiar smell of ash and fuel around him as like the being he had become, a Prince that had once stumbled from the ruptured skeleton of his fathers kingdom to crown himself an Empire and build it again from the ground. This was not one of those times.

"Other children should be easier to hurt, not ours!" Nobu has a voice like a thunder, a crackling whip that leaves sparks and unnecessary electric running up the small of the little boys spine. His father oozes authority, stoic and golden, refined and exquisite, his brother held authority upon his sleeves and his mother held it against her heart but Jenova was all but authority and anything that could be deemed a finery. The sound of Nobu's voice leaves Jenova hopelessly startled, grasping at his mothers gown and sinking his fingers into the material; the chances of him fraying the silk were high.

"He is a child, Nobu. Enough! This is madness, _this_ \- is madness."

**──────────────────────────────⮞**

For the next few mornings afterwards, Jenova was assisted to be washed and dried, wounds deeply checked and not a single bruise could go undocumented. In the end, Anzi took over seeing over her son's injuries, offering strawberries and sweeter fruits as the tender gifts that he asked for and learning that Jenova could devour an orange quicker than Anzu could blink. On a few of these mornings, Jenova was awoken by sudden aches and cramps that situated themselves within the small of his spine and the top of his thighs, closely followed by sudden nausea and rollercoaster dizziness and on some of those mornings, he spent hours sat before the toilet, hunched over and defeated as the nausea would wash through him like a tidal wave and his mother moved long, ebony locks from view and held them loosely back as she whispered sweet hymns that promised lift wouldn't always be this way.

On the fifth morning, Jenova was situated at the end of his bed, short legs hanging off of the edge and crossed by the ankle, hands neatly splayed in his lap and singular bright eye flitting over his mother. Oh, Anzu was golden, beautiful in every way possible with a smooth complexion and the most delicate of smiles and if given the chance, Jenova might have written a poem just about his mother and how she had to be one of Gods favoured angels.

"How does your head feel, my sweet boy?" Anzu inquires as she leans towards his fickle frame, her fingers carefully loosening the bandage that had been secured around his head and folding away from his crown. The injury sustained hadn't been too bad, it wasn't life threatening but it had been enough to earn several little stitches, it would scar the scalp but the mass of his hair could hide this.

"It doesn't hurt any more, mama," Jenova responds. His hands come up towards his right eye where another bandage covers this view, but his mother shakes her head and guides his hands away from it - the steady shake of her head confirms that the bandage was not ready to come off, not just yet, anyway. Instead, he purses his lips a little bit, forming a small pout as his own hands steadily lock around her splayed fingers and try to pull her closer towards him. It is needy, he knows this, his father had scolded him many of times in regards to Jenova's requirement for attention and need of affection; physical or otherwise. But then, affection was hard to come back when it came to his father but his fathers attention could never be fleeting when it came to training Jenova.

"You cannot take this one off just yet, little one. It's still healing." Anzu says and it comes just like a melody. She then moves until her weight is against the mattress of Jenova's bed and she is pulling the small child into her lap and ever so gently does she nuzzle into his hair and briefly shall she press a featherlight kiss to the bandage covering his eye. It won't always be like this, she tells herself, because it was all that she could tell herself before the guilt could weight too heavy upon like the cold of a guillotine; a burden that tore her down by the points of her shoulders, pulling her under and under until her fingers could no longer touch the sides.

**⮜──────────────────────────────**

By the time the wounding around his eye had healed and Jenova was able to remove it, the blisters along the spread of his knuckles had died down too and scuffed knees had become mindful scars and bruising had become memory... _He just needed to learn to be better_. When the bandage had been removed, the nurse had momentarily shown him his reflection in a handheld mirror. It had been a short wound woven slightly into his eyelid and towards the end of his brow, cutting through a firm line that would no doubt scar within time. It wasn't too big nor obvious either, but his mother had bandaged and cleaned it regularly to prevent infections getting to it.

The excitement had brought Jenova to hoist himself off of the edge of his bed, offering a delighted 'thank you' to the nurse before practically fleeing out of his bedroom, leaving the nurse in a moment of silence, a steady shake of her head and small snort of amusement to follow. The little youth worked his way along the hallways and corridor until he came to the staircase, grand and winding, Enmei had always told Jenova that the staircase reminding of one you'd see within a palace and Jenova only recalls the happier memories of chasing Enmei up and down the stairs declaring their childlike loyalty to an imaginary game and attempting to save their mother who always played the role of princess. But Jenova was half way when he noticed Enmei sat upon one of the steps, placed together and torso shifted slightly to the side with his crown pressed against one of the bannisters as he listened... So, Jenova listened too.

"You dote on him too much." Comes the voice of his father, although, his voice seemed oddly calm given the situation but one can follow the silhouettes of his fathers shadow, following his mothers shadow out of spite and solely for the fact that Anzu had a thing for turning and walking away from Nobu when they tarnished crowns and butted heads.

"You do not dote on him at all, you're too harsh."

"It worked for Enmei and look at what he has become!" For a moment, the silhouettes stop pacing around the lounge area and Anzu gracefully appears to twist within her movements and face her husband.

"Enmei and Jenova are very different. Enmei had you from the very beginning, Jenova did not." There is silence that follows, there always is, Nobu always drops back to think on how to phrase his next sentence and Anzu continues to eye him with that battle gaze that threatens war and a frenzy of bloodied wounds. At this point, Jenova was now occupying one of the steps, small hands holding onto the bannister as his forehead pressed eagerly against them; although, he probably wasn't so sure as to what he had been so eager about previously. Overhearing the vague arguments were never anything new, Anzu always spoke in hushed voices and commanded that Nobu do the same, but their arguments had always centred around Jenova. Jenova was small and weak and peculiarly disproportioned unlike the other children of his age. He was smaller in both height and width, possessing a dainty frame and delicate bones and beneath weighted hands, Jenova could easily shatter.

"That means nothing, Anzu and you know that. He's not _our_ son." Enmei is. The two words that always follow and Jenova had gotten used to hearing them, even in a world where his mother offered generous hugs and the sweetest of teas and on the odd occasion, his father would sit with him in his lap and brush through his hair, kissing occasionally at the crown of Jenova's head, he still wasn't their son. That was nothing new, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

"He is _my_ son, Nobu."

**──────────────────────────────⮞**

At the age of 11, Jenova recalls the loud clicking of his wrist as the fist around it tightens and the smell of metal pungent at his nostrils as he feels the warm ache of fingers within his hair, knotting the loose strands around a fist and drawing him back until his upper body spasmed and his neck craned back into a tearful position. Dual tone eyes met the fury of his father as he blinked back the hot tears pricking the very corners of his eyes and caught amongst the thickness of his lashes like lost constellations. Nobu cranes Jenova's head further back until it is pressed right against Nobu's own shoulder, Jenova's torso arching out like a bow string as his fingers splay outwards in attempts to seeking purchase. Nothing comes.

"Please-!" Jenova shouts out, feeling the strain of his own voice and red hot tears searing their own path of destruction into the rounding of his cheeks. Lips are agape and bloodied, mixed with saliva and sweat and caught within his chin and spilling out over the very corners of his lips until beads of saliva and blood meet within the junction of his throat and pool.

"This isn't good enough, Jenova, you're not good enough!" Jenova barely has the chance to breathe, barely has the chance to respond to his father's torrent of abuse before he is dropped onto his stomach and his cheek is pressed into the ground underneath him. He can see stars and taste the moisture of the dirt and it mixes with the iron taste upon the tip of his tongue, he knows the dirt will mark his skin and taint the softness. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, seeking only the dark abyss but allowing more tears to seep over the rise of his cheeks and flit along his chin and neck. His eyes open again, however, a little wider this time, cracked tiers parting as the little youth almost screams into the dirt beneath him - he feels new ache of his twisted wrist, his arm held into a restraint across his back and pulled taut against his spine; _it burns_.

"Please - it hurts." He wants to scream. He wants to... Do _anything_ to be out of this restraint, but his torso was pliant and flush to the ground and his fathers knee was lodged against the small of his back, pressing him further down into the ground underneath him and Jenova breathes over and over again like a mantra that it hurts but finds that his breaths are stolen from him when he feels the weight of Nobu press harder against him and finally does his wrist give in with a faint crack.

He was screaming by then. Rigid against the ground beneath them with his wrist pressed against his chest and his other hand looming over it in efforts to protect it, secure it - drown out this agony that spheres him whole. His father only watches him and that expression of pity had long since gone. Nobu looks at him with an expression that lacks satisfaction, so absentmindedly is Nobu as he looks away from the crumpled frame laid about before him, the broken frame that wriggles at the hips to seek some sort of comfort but every single part of him aches, or bruises, or bleeds under brute force.

"My son's are not weak."

**⮜──────────────────────────────**

Anzu plaits Jenova's hair. He's too big to sit within her lap now as she does this, so he sits before the fire place nursing cracked knuckles and reapplying new bandages whilst his mother sits behind him, splendid gown of silk and velvet so loosely around her wrists as she brushes through his hair and secures the plait down the middle of his spine. His hair is long enough for him to sit on now and even longer for him to care for properly, hence why his mother had taken up the role of doing it, eagerly conditioning and trimming, whilst his father once suggested a different cut entirely but dismissed it entirely when Anzu argued that Jenova could style his hair however he wished. Jenova feels the warmth of the crackling fire before him, a fleeting kindness that spreads over his face and neck and dances along exposed arms as Jenova idly drops his head into his mothers lap and his mother talks business with his father who rustles through newspaper and idly converses about the hierarchy of today.

"It's nothing new, it's the same news every week." Nobu comments, lowering the newspaper briefly and looking over towards his wife. She looks blissful like this, long strands of hair curled over her petite shoulders and a lazy bun of messy and long strands cascading like the prettiest of waterfalls along the ridges of her spine. Blissful as her crown of roses and lilies nestles against the back of the chair and her eyes fall shut in thought. His eyes fall towards Jenova, his son, his scarred and rattled frame, delicate features and dangerously coloured eyes; humid fires burning within them. Nobu's expression falters into something of softness.

"It is always the same dear, branch out the organisation amongst countries." Anzu responds.

"Russia is off limits. Jurgen already tried."

"Jurgen has different diplomatic approaches to you, his organisation stems from differing foundations. Surely, you cannot expect him to negotiate on grounds of your business? Why don't you go for yourself? Take Jenova with you, show him his shares within the organisation - it is what you did with Enmei." Anzu explains, doe eyes briefly opening as she looks towards her husband. He is quiet, almost as though he is in thought, but then comes the low hum of appreciation, the vague smile as Nobu folds up the newspaper and discards it on the coffee table.

"Enmei is 24, Jenova is 13, I don't think he needs to see his share yet." Nobu comments, which... Is true. Enmei wasn't shown his share until he was 20, and Enmei knew the organisation and statistics as if it came naturally to him, Jenova knew nothing about the organisation and what it stood for - he didn't really know what it meant but he did know that his family name wasn't often something that was idly mentioned on the streets and within the mouth of foul intention, people were usually struck down or lost their tongues. Jenova was also still a child and a chid didn't really have much of a reason to be exposed to the organisation and its brutality like that, it was a secret best kept to the back of the mind.

**──────────────────────────────⮞**

The fox had been there a lot more lately, crawling from the depths of the back of his mind, seeping through the cracks within the porcelain, snarling into the fragmented segments of the mirrors. Jenova wiped his face and washed it the usual soap and water mix and his reflection stood watching him, eyeing every movement he made, nothing more than the predator awaiting its prey to slip up and unfold in front of it. When Jenova caught a glimpse and stared back at the notorious figure that could not move, only stare, he attempted to press his finger tips against the glass and the fox laughed at him.

The fox was laughing at him now as his spine cracked beneath the weight and his pelvis slide and Jenova screamed as his fingers scratched into the dirt and soil that bubbled beneath him. The fox and its laughter bubbled within him with keen intent, a chorus that was meeting its finale and within its own high pitched squeal, he told him that he was weak, not he was nothing and Jenova screamed back that he finally knew. Jenova felt cold and then he felt hot, all at once, as his fingers dance over his middle, flitting over his abdomen and hips and when asked if he could stand, Jenova squealed that he couldn't feel a thing any more. His nails press into his hip, his thigh... _Anywhere_ , and yet, he can't feel a thing. He presses into his skin until he hears Nobu telling him to stop, enough was enough and pulling his fingers away from the seeping holes that Jenova had made within his tracksuit.

"What did you - Jenova? What did you do?" Nobu calloused and scarred palms secure themselves upon Jenova's cheeks as he seeks to steady the movement of Jenova's head, he can feel the wet of Jenova's skin as tears continue to spill over his cheeks, drenching the fresh cuts and new bruising; adorning them in a glow that was no long pleasant to Nobu. Nobu steadied Jenova's head carefully, whispering short instructions amongst reminding him that everything would be okay; that enough was enough. No more training, no more pushing to exceed only to spit blood and crack teeth, only to break bones and adorn scarred knees and shins.

"I tried-!" Jenova screams back... Even if his throat hurts, even though his head thrums and his eyesight is blurry, he screams back a response at his father whose fingers only continue to warm the rise of his cheeks and instinctively dance over the paths that tears created. Jenova shouts over and over again that he tried and tried and it never felt like it was enough, it had never been enough. His father shushes him and reminds him that it'll be okay, he just needs to stay as still as he possibly can and as Jenova blinks back his tears and squints into the beaming sunlight, he watches as the fox clouds his vision and whispers that he'll never walk again.


End file.
